


and they were quarantined

by glittercake



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Flirting, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mutual Thirsting, Resolved Sexual Tension, Roommates, Suggestive Yoga Poses, quarantine fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:00:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23498665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glittercake/pseuds/glittercake
Summary: Their floor is big, huge even, so to be in each other's face, they'd really have to go out of their way.So Sam has for sure gone out of his way just to see Bucky. He has definitely altered his sleeping schedule so that he'll catch Bucky at five am making coffee, or at midnight, shirtless on the balcony.He has also one hundred percent started doing yoga in their living room just as Bucky's rounding a corner.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 206





	and they were quarantined

None of this is funny. It's really not. It's fucking dire— being confined to the tower with the handful of Avengers who hadn't been out of the country at the time.

Still, Sam finds himself in a dark little corner of the gym, giggling into a sweaty towel because he's spying on the goddamn Winter Soldier.

Perhaps Week Two of lockdown is finally taking its toll because it's not like he's never noticed Bucky before. Like really noticed him, you know? Where his muscles knot, how his back flexes under that stupid singlet. What's that supposed to cover anyway?? Barely a nipple. That's what. 

Right now, Bucky's bench pressing something awful like 400kg's, his legs spread across the bench, his damp shirt clinging to his chest. All heaving and grunting and shit. Jesus. It's _a lot._

Sam's licking his lips as Bucky hooks the weight back on the bar and gets up. He thinks for a moment he's gotten away with this super stealthy spy session when Bucky's head snaps up. 

He's glaring straight at the dark little corner, and a lazy smirk starts forming around his lips. 

Then, suddenly, he begins peeling the sorry excuse of a shirt off, wipes his face down, and slings it around his neck. On his way out the door, he turns and winks at the empty room. 

Sam's staring wide-eyed, frozen, wondering if Bucky'd seen him, or if his super senses just knew someone was there. 

One thing he knows for sure— at the very least, the dude doesn't mind an audience. 

A very appreciative one at that. 

* * *

With this whole lockdown business, Bucky has much more time to... observe people. 

Like now. Sam's putting a new red, white, and blue pair of wings to the test, and Bucky gets to sit and watch him soar and swoop and do that thing with his pecs when he lands. 

It's like a bouncy thing, a little twitch, and is so much more visible when he's just wearing a t-shirt. And then there are the thighs, and the way his sweats hug his ass, his arms—god his arms—and the tiny slit between his teeth… 

Bucky's starting to wonder if the isolation has gone to his head. Has he always been thinking about Wilson this much? Has he always been trying to get closer to Sam's vicinity? Listening specifically for his voice, his laugh. Has he always known there's a small scar on Sam's forehead, or did he only see that because he'd been staring for too long?

He's trying to remember when he started memorizing Sam's coffee order or noticing how he scrapes the red peppers aside on his plate, or how he blows bubbles into his milkshake.

He doesn't know when. What he does know is that he dreams of Sam every goddamn night now. And the things they do… god. The things he says to him; the things Sam whispers back. 

Bucky's done far too many sheet changes, too many loads of laundry; someone's bound to start asking questions. 

But they haven't yet, so he keeps dreaming, tonight he's sure it'll be of Sam with his wings on. God, like an angel fucking him, saying his name. He can see it now, while he's watching Sam, he pictures him with nothing but his wings on, nothing but that sweet voice and his wings while buried deep in Bucky—

"—the show, Barnes."

Bucky's head whips up, "What?!" 

Suddenly he's standing, and Sam's in front of him, the wings folding neatly into the pack. Bucky swallows what feels like a ball of cotton. 

"I said…" Sam looks amused, his eyes raking up Bucky's torso, "Looks like you're enjoying the show. Ain't for free, you know."

God, he must have been staring hard. 

"Yeah?" Bucky says, cool as he can. He starts wrapping his hands for the punching bags. He can't seem to look Sam in the eye after all the filthy things he just thought about doing to him. "What's it cost?" 

"Sparring session?" 

Oh god. There's no way he'll survive that. 

He goes anyway.

* * *

Week four of lockdown hits, and someone in the lobby gets infected. 

They all get confined to their floors only, no gym, no common area, no coffee runs.

Lucky for Sam, he shares a floor with none other than Mr. JB Barnes himself, or this would have been a fucking crisis of the mind. God, he can't imagine for the life of him what he'd do if he couldn't see Bucky every day anymore.

Because he thinks he hears music when Bucky enters a room now. Like that one Jason Derulo song about the trumpets. 

Their floor is big, huge even, so to be in each other's face, they'd really have to go out of their way. 

So Sam has for sure gone out of his way just to see Bucky. He has _ definitely _ altered his sleeping schedule so that he'll catch Bucky at five am making coffee, or at midnight, shirtless on the balcony. 

Goes without saying that Bucky notices. Sam sees him far too often either blatantly gaping—especially when Sam wears the gray sweats—or with his teeth sunk into his bottom lip. Eyes on Sam. Eyes always on Sam.

He has also one hundred percent started doing yoga in their living room just as Bucky's rounding a corner. He sure has. 

This particular morning, Sam's got his best yoga pants on. Nat got him this pair way back when; she had the exact same one. And she was right; they're total bussy traps.

Bucky comes shuffling out of his room, stops abruptly at the sight of Sam: ass up, face down, grinning at him through a pair of spread legs. 

"Jesus tapdancing Christ," Bucky hisses, he doesn't move. 

"Problem, Barnes?" Sam wiggles his hips, to get the position right, just to get steady. 

He sees Bucky shake his head, his Adam's apple bopping up and down. 

"Hm." he clears his throat, "Not…" he starts toward the kitchen but glances back at Sam, his head slightly tilted, "Won't call it a problem... exactly," he says.

Sam gives a deeply satisfied grunt at the way his muscles burn right now and stretches his leg out to the side. He knows how it looks from where Bucky's standing. He doesn't care.

"Yeah? What'd you call it, huh?" Sam says, a little breathless, exerted, and sweaty. 

Bucky comes over and sits down on the sofa a few feet away; he rests his coffee on his knee and smirks. With a shrug, he says, "Free entertainment." He takes a long sip of coffee, "Don't stop on my account. Please." 

Sam can't stop himself from smiling. "Wasn't planning to." 

"Thank god, dollface. Thank god." 

Sam thinks he implodes.

* * *

A couple of days later, Sam wakes up to meet Bucky in the kitchen for their five am coffee, but he's not there.

If there ever was a tell that what he feels for Bucky is far beyond platonic, it's the fact that his heart sinks right down to the depths of his stomach. 

Since he's worried about his floormate, he makes his way to Bucky's room and gives the door a few light raps. 

"Barnes?" 

"Yeah!? Come in!" 

He sounds strained, weird, and as soon as Sam enters, he sees why. 

Winter Soldier is doing a handstand against the wall. His shirt's on the ground, and it's just ass and back muscle and gleaming black metal. 

Sam licks his lips. "Man, what the hell are you doing?" Not that he minds even one bit. 

Bucky slips his right hand into his shirt, pulls it up over his elbow. Very casually, he says, "Putting my shirt on."

Right. Okay. Not like this is the weirdest thing to ever happen in this tower. They are locked down; after all, Bucky must be feeling the boredom. 

The shirt's finally over his head, and he finishes the task with a very unnecessary but impressive backflip off the wall that makes Sam's stomach clench.

He kneels by the bedside table and says, "There kid. Happy? I nominate Sharon Carter, Sam Wilson, and King T'challa." Then he salutes his phone, very clearly recording himself, and ends the live video. 

Sam laughs, "What is this?!" 

"Parker and his goddamn Instagram challenges." Bucky shows him a video of Parker upside down against the wall putting a shirt on. 

"And you had to nominate me, huh?" 

Sam realizes how close they're standing. He smells Barnes' aftershave, the faint minty waft of his conditioner, his body's warmth reaching out for Sam. 

He sucks in a deep breath, and when he looks up from the phone, Bucky's already looking at him. Something unsure and curious in his eyes, lips a little parted.

"Hi…" Bucky whispers, probably realizing the very same thing, possibly also thinking the same thing Sam's thinking right now. 

Sam just stares for a moment, unmoving, watching Bucky's tongue swipe across his lower lip. 

"Can I just…" 

"Yeah…" 

Sam leans up the last few inches and kisses him. 

He's vaguely aware of Bucky's hand coming up to his face and tipping his head back. He's much more aware of Bucky's tongue teasing at his lip.

All it takes is Bucky's body pressing up against him, chest to thighs, and then it's over. 

Sam swings his arms around Bucky's neck, Bucky lifts him off the ground and throws Sam's legs around his waist, and now they're kissing like this pandemic is about to end the world and they'll never get to do it again. 

Bucky tosses him down on the bed, crawling on top and covering Sam's body with his own, his thighs bracketing Sam in, hands pressed into the mattress on either side of his head.

It's all really hot and fast, and Sam's breathing heavily into Bucky's neck while Bucky's sliding a hand down his sweats. 

Sam's almost too delirious to do the same, it feels so good, but he finds the waistband of Bucky's pajamas and slips his hand inside.

"Shit…" 

"You good?" Bucky murmurs against Sam's collarbone, he bites softly at Sam's skin, his hand working Sam over steadily in his sweats. 

"Yeah. Fuck yes, come here," Sam breathes out, he wraps his hand around Bucky's dick and gives a testing squeeze. 

Bucky makes a hapless noise down deep in his throat but lifts his face to Sam's.

Sam grins at him, pulling him down into a filthy kiss. 

Bucky comes quietly, burying his face in Sam's neck, body tense, solid muscle on top of Sam. Sam comes moaning, breathing hard, going completely boneless beneath Mr. Winter.

"Jesus, dollface," Bucky laughs lazy with satiated bliss.

Sam smiles up at the ceiling, blindingly happy.

A little while later—after getting cleaned up and dressed—the two of them are snuggled up on Bucky's bed, enjoying their new-found closeness while watching a movie. Bucky's tracing little circles on Sam's shoulder, and Sam's head's resting on Bucky's chest, their feet tangled under the blankets.

"Good afternoon, Seargent Barnes, Captain Wilson," FRIDAY interrupts gently from god-knows-where.

"Hey, sweetheart," Bucky says.

"There is an address by President Ellis regarding the Covid19 situation if you'd like to watch."

"Thanks, honey. What'd I do without you, huh?" He changes the channel to the President's speech.

Sam swears he hears FRIDAY  _ giggle. _ "It's a pleasure, Seargent." He looks at Bucky and only gets a wink in response. Again, it's not the weirdest shit to happen in this tower. 

Ellis says,  _ "—due to climbing infection rates, we have decided to extend the national lockdown by another four weeks—"  _

Sam and Bucky turn to each other, both with a knowing, self-explanatory grin plastered on their faces. 

This time Bucky pulls Sam on top of him, kissing him, and Sam's gone the moment Bucky cups his ass and squeezes.

He's not saying lockdown's going great. But it's going pretty goddamn great. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Tom's IG challenge](https://www.instagram.com/p/B-cu4znJCuV/?utm_source=ig_web_button_share_sheet) ;)


End file.
